


Take My Soul, Make It Undone

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bucky and Steve are dorks, Don't Have To Read The Song of Achilles, Fluff, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4353344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So.. you saved my life.”</p><p>Steve nodded with a shrug of his shoulder, “Just doing my job.”</p><p>“And you got a Soulmate out of it,” Bucky pointed out, slowly lowering the blanket from his chin, setting his hands down on his lap, trying to keep his body language open.</p><p>Steve chuckled- a sound Bucky wanted to hear again- and nodded, “That I did not expect from today’s fire.”</p><p>“Well,” Bucky drawled leaning towards Steve, “I sure am glad that floor decided to fall out from under me and try to throw me into the mouth of hell. It’s gonna’ be a great story to tell people.”</p><p>“Typical damsel in distress situation,” Steve said, nodding with a smirk on his face.</p><p>(or: the soulmates au where the Gods really want Steve and Bucky to get together)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Soul, Make It Undone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallingfromthursday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingfromthursday/gifts).



> This is for [Phi](http://lostcap.tumblr.com/) who asked for "Sun, Stars, Soulmates" and probably didn't expect this.
> 
> Thank you to [Itsmylifekay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay) for helping me with parts!
> 
> The title/inspo from [Twenty One Pilots- Hometown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJtlLzsDICo) the full line is: "be the one, be the one to take my soul and make it undone"
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (thank you to Madeline Miller for writing The Song of Achilles, all characters are hers, I just rewrote the ending to match my style, please buy her book! It's on IBooks for $1.00 and it's a great read.)

Legend has it that there was a God and a Goddess. 

The Goddess was beautiful; auburn hair flowing in waves, eyes blue like a clear sky, her lips red like dried cherries. The God was handsome; his body made with angular muscles, hands smooth and lacking callouses, eyes a glassy brown. 

The Goddess was that of the Sun: warmth, and safekeeping. The God was that of the Stars: mystery, and protection. 

It was said they met on a fateful Winter Solstice. The Goddess watching the seasons change from a rock not far off from the beach, the God watching the sky from the shore of the same beach. It was said their eyes met from across the ocean, waves crashing around the Goddess, sand stirring around the God’s feet. It was said the Goddess took the first step, her bare feet curving around the rock’s edges before stepping off into the ocean. The God, no longer seeing the Goddess, panicked. He trudged through the harsh, cold ocean waves. Searching for his Goddess, when he himself was tugged under. He fought against the ocean current, thinking that it was at fault, when the Goddess rose up in the water to met him. She touched his face lightly, her body and hair glowing even underwater, a burst of giggles spilling out her mouth before pressing her lips to his.

It was said that they were Soulmates. Two souls utterly perfect for each other in all ways, two souls that the High God’s couldn’t separate even in death. 

It was said that with that kiss they blessed the ocean. The water radiating with their starbound love flowing from ocean to river to stream to mouth of man.

It was said that in that moment, in that kiss, they set the fate for all of humanity. The Stars and Suns moving, aligning people and animals alike to find their one true partner. Blessing them with marks of either Suns or Stars on their skin, like the God and Goddess kissed every being, giving that creature a unique mark that matched only one other. 

It was then, in that time moons and moons ago, that the Stars and Suns aligned for every creature to come. Some with tragic tales others with joyful ones but all with their fates sealed and their destinies to be met, their souls to travel through time until they find each other again.

* * *

* * *

_1250 BCE_

Patroclus watched as Achilles was slayn. 

Blood seeping into the sand like his own did, his hair of fire splaying beneath his head, the mark of the Sun and Star on his temple turning a stark white that signaled his final breath, a small smile on his lips because the calm presence of the underworld was washing over him. The calm presence that they’d be soon reunited again. 

Patroclus felt it too.

X

Pyrrhus, _fire_ , was a cruel ruler and only twelve. He shared his father’s features, symmetrical bone structure, an easy flawlessness, but he was cold. Every line that matched his father’s off without the brightness Achilles’ had with him, every line the same but not except for brightness, the jut of his chin, and the lack of a Sun and Star mark on the side of his face. Even his eyes were hard like harsh winters that plagued the land fruitless.

His hair the only thing matching warmth in his name.

He did not know mercy, he did not know kindness, he did not know when to let the pride of his father being _Aristos Achaion_ fall from his shoulders. He did not know solace and because of this- of pride and a cold heart- he did not let Patroclus rest in peace.

“A slave has no place in his master’s tomb,” Pyrrhus said, only twelve and having words sharp like spears, “their ashes will not be mixed. This monument is for _Aristos Achaion_ and him alone.”

“Very well.”

Patroclus wanted to yell, scream, fight this cold boy who thought he could decide what was best for Achilles- a father he never knew- but he was just air, he was just a thought, he could do nothing.

X

Patroclus watched as the Greeks left. The sails of their ships high in the blue sky, moving with such pace that by nightfall they were no longer seen.

As the Greeks sail through the calm sea, farther and farther away from what should be he and Achilles’ burial, Patroclus feels his heart and hope go with them. He feels both his heart and hope sink deep into the ocean where Achilles’ mother, Thetis, dwells.

Patroclus watches the ocean for countless hours. The sun rising and falling, stars kissing the night, people coming to pray to Achilles and give their thanks. He doesn’t move when people kneel, he doesn’t move when flowers and sacrifices are left at his feet, he doesn’t move until Thetis makes her presence.

He hasn’t thought of Thetis in ages, his mind too focused on not being with Achilles, but when he sees her walking through the grass, approaching their burial, he’s filled with anger. Anger for all the things she never let him or Achilles have. Anger for her love for Pyrrhus that exceeded the love she had for Achilles, her own son. 

He watches her reach to touch their burial, the wind blowing through her hair, making him choke on the smell of sea salt. He doesn’t want her to touch them, to caress where they’re supposed to be together, so he speaks, “Thetis.”

She jerks her hand back, eyes widening, before disappearing.

Hours pass before she comes back.

He says her name again, waiting for a reaction, but she does nothing, so he speaks again, “I’m buried here. In your son’s grave, with your son.”

She doesn’t reply, just stares, ignores. She leaves.

X

She visits the burial daily. Sitting at the base of the tomb as if protecting the place her son’s burial could makeup for all her wrongdoings. He speaks to her, repeats that he too is here, but she does not listen. He prays to the Gods that have betrayed him for her to, but she stays, he cannot make her leave if she doesn’t want to.

“You once told me that it was Chiron that ruined him,” He starts, watching as she sits motionless in the grass, “But you know nothing, not of him nor I. This,” he looks at the burial with it’s depictions of Achilles killing man after man, “this is how he’ll be remembered. For things he did cruelly in his grief.”

She does not move.

“Why would you make him another Pyrrhus?” He asks, “Why not let the stories of him be something more?” Something other than bloodshed and murder, he thinks, because that is not who Achilles is.

“What more?” She asks, her lips moving but everything else staying still like a statue. 

“His returning of Hector’s body, his skill with the lyre, his beautiful voice, his safekeeping of the girls.”

Time passes and she says nothing. 

The sun is touching the ocean when he speaks again, “Why are you not with Pyrrhus?”

“He is dead.” Her eyes don’t move from where she stares at Achilles’ name, at the place where Patroclus’ own name should be.

“How?” He asks, wondering what could kill something so cold.

“Agamemnon’s son killed him for stealing and ravishing his bride.”

Patroclus takes his gaze away from her and sets them on the sun, “Why is he the son you prefer to Achilles?”

He feels her shift in the grass, the movement small but large in his heart, “Have you no more memories?”

“I am made of memories.” He is only a memory.

“Speak then.” Thetis says. 

Patroclus wants to refuse. He wants to thrash and tell her that she does not deserve to know Achilles like he did. But he aches to speak of him, to live for more than death, so he does. He talks for hours, of nothing and of something. He speaks of the way he favored figs to other fruits, he speaks of the way he looked after a battle, he speaks of Achilles waiting for him before leaving with Chiron. He speaks of memories and dreams and figments that he didn’t know he remembered. 

He speaks and she listens and she remembers.

X

“Why do you not go to him?” He asks, wanting to know why someone would want to keep themself from someone like Achilles, wanting to know why a mother that missed her son would want to.

“I cannot,” She says, pain radiating through her voice, “I cannot go beneath the earth, this,” she motions to the burial, “is all I have left.”

Patroclus can feel her pain seeping into the earth where he and Achilles lay and continues to speak of him, trying to give her more memories than just _this_.

X

The sun has risen and fallen, stars have kissed and left, he and Thetis sit beside each other on the grass before the burial.

“I could not make him a god,” She says.

“But you made him.”

She does not answer for a long time, only sits and watches.

“I have done it.” She says, her words pulling Patroclus out of a beautiful memory.

He doesn’t understand what she says but then he follows her gaze and looks to the burial, to the marks she made on the stone. 

On the stone it reads _A c h i l l e s_ and beside it, _P a t r o c l u s_. 

“Go,” she says after moments of stunned silence pass, “he waits for you.”

X

_In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy, dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun._

* * *

* * *

_1940-1950 Census_

_During the years of World War II the highest rates of both finding one’s Soulmate and losing one’s Soulmate were tallied. It was said that many men and women who devoted their lives to the cause found their soulmate on the war front. Whether it be an Ally or a member of the Axis Powers._

_The most memorable occurrence of finding one’s Soulmate on the war front was that of a Captain and a Sergeant. Both men tragically died on a covert mission- which the United States Federal Government has no word on and is withholding more evidence about these two men- but their bodies were recovered months later by marine biologists, Soulmarks still intact despite the ocean’s harsh ecosystem._

_Little is known about these two men, but they are the picture of Soulmates on the war lines._

* * *

* * *

_2015_

Supposedly, according to Fire House #107 myth, between the hours of 3pm and 7pm on Sundays fires never happened. It was like- what the hell did people call it.. oh, like golden hours. A handful of hours where firemen and women alike could get their chores done, pay bills for apartments none of them use, catch up on sleep, even go Soulmate hunting around town- ‘cause that was a thing.

Bucky liked to take these hours leisurely. Either sleeping in the corner of the fire house that got _just_ the right amount of light, or reading whatever book Natasha threw at him for the week. And he never took these Golden Hours for granted, unlike most of the other ‘fighters, who went across town to some dive or decided to go home and spend ‘quality’ time with their Soulmate. But Bucky, he never did anything stupid like that. He stayed close to the firehouse, only going a few blocks away if need be, and he didn’t have a Soulmate to love on so there was nothing to do in that area. 

Sure, if he wanted to, he could go out for a quick fuck, but he wasn’t about that life, and most people were put off by the eyesore that was his Soulmark. His Soulmark was a weird combination of both Star and Sun- which wasn’t supposed to happen, but he’s a special snowflake- along the left side of his face. The Sun was a crescent by his eye, the flame parts flicking out by his temple, and the Stars were dusted along the side of his face, running from above his lip to his hairline. 

Most people’s Soulmarks were in hidden places- like on their backs, inside the thigh, sometimes behind ears- or just small little variations of a Sun or Star on the insides of wrists or on feet (Bucky’s been told that Soulmarks hurt like a bitch on feet when the person meets their match). He’d much rather have his Soulmark somewhere on his back or something- he understood full well that having a visible Soulmark was easier for finding his Soulmate, but the burning sensation that every gets when they see their Soulmate was perfectly fine for him, no need for his mark to plastered down his face like he was in a fucking romcom or something. 

Of course, everyone knee deep in Soulmark bullshit told him he was blessed and liked to touch his mark- with or without permission. So, he found an alternative: Makeup. Whenever he went out nowadays he slathered some foundation and concealer across his whole face- he’d only do it on that side of his face, but then he’d look blotchy and Natasha would chase him around the fire house with her beauty blender. But, unfortunately, his only cover up process didn’t work at clubs, or gyms- or just anything that made him get sweaty. The makeup would run off, somehow fade from his mark and make it visible to everyone and their mother. 

Queue the nonconsensual touching and people telling him how blessed he was. 

So, fucking people during this Golden Hour, was never going to happen. 

In all honesty, Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his Soulmate. He was closer to thirty than twenty and statics said that people reaching their mid-thirties were likely to never find their Soulmate. It wasn’t like the Sun and Star Gods made the Soulmarks change color to let him know if his Soulmate died, of course it couldn’t be that easy. So, he stopped trying. He knew it was wrong to his Soulmate to not look for them, but looking for someone that might be in fucking Russia was a waste of his already limited time. Being a firefighter wasn’t all saving cats from trees and posing half naked for calendars- though he has done both of those multiple times. 

So, here he was, basking in the sun in that specific corner of the fire house with a battered copy of Slaughterhouse-Five in his hands,

when the fucking alarm went off. 

Bucky groaned, throwing the book on the floor next to his corner, and ran to get suited up. 

So much for the Golden Hour.

X

“What kind of fire is it?” Bucky asked, tightening all the fastens of his jacket with one hand and holding onto his helmet with the other.

“Apartment,” Natasha called from where she was turning on the truck, “EMTs are already in pursuit, and unit #106 is headed there as we speak, we leave in two minutes, fellas!” She called, stepping out of the truck to pull her own jacket and helmet on. 

“Bucky, you’ll be going in to complex three to find any casualties,” Fury called, “Clint will be your backup, only separate if one of you finds a casualty.”

Bucky nodded, making his way into the fire truck, taking in deep breaths, trying to will away the normal pre-fire butterflies. He was glad Clint was his backup and vise versa, but if he somehow got Natasha’s Soulmate killed she’d give him a slow, painful death. 

He recited the very few prayers he knew, as the truck filled up with other firemen and women, all of them prepared for the worst and hoping for the best.

Apartment fires were the worst in his opinion. It was hard to control the flames with the entirely too close units, and there was always people too afraid to leave their apartments and at least _try_ to save themselves. It was worse when the apartments had closed in hallways, and seeing as they were in Brooklyn he expected nothing less. 

To hell with apartment fires.

X

The apartments were in full flame when they got there, the #106th’s team already trying to tame them and EMTs herding people this and that way. The team already knew their orders, who was grouped with who, so running into the apartment- fully lit with flames- was no big deal.

Bucky went into the apartment first, flames were licking at both he and Clint’s suits and he could hear #106th’s team members inside, searching for people. 

They checked each apartment, kicking down doors, calling out names, doing quick one-overs where they could, and trying not to die themselves when there was too much smoke or fire. They got through three apartments quickly and thoroughly, but the fourth one screwed them over.

Bucky kicked down the door, throwing all his weight into the door twice before it flew off the flimsy liner. Smoke was pluming out in thick waves, making it hard to breathe even in their masks. 

“I think this is where the fire started!” Bucky called, cautiously stepping into the threshold. 

“No shit,” Clint muttered, his voice sounding farther away than it should be.

“You check the first bedroom,” he called nodding to the closed doors, “I’ll check the bathroom and the second room. Keep your ears open, Clint!” 

Once Bucky got Clint’s nod he cautiously made his way to the second door in the hallway, hoping the layout on the second floor was the same as that on the first, and pushed the door open. Much to his luck, it was the same. He pushed away the shower curtain, making sure there wasn’t any kids hiding in the tub- it’s happened before- then rummaged through the cabinets, doing just the same.

“Bathroom’s clear,” He called over the comms, “checking the second bedroom.” 

“I’ve got a kid!” Clint yelled, making Bucky wince when his comm screeched, “taking him to the EMTs stat.”

“Roger that,” Bucky said, before kicking the second bedroom door open.

He slowly walked to the closet, cringing at each groan the floor gave with the heavy steps of his boots. He twisted the knob, heat flowing through his glove from the hot metal, and opened the door. Bucky pushed clothes out of the way and called out to see if anyone was inside, to his luck, there was nobody. 

“Apartment clear,” Bucky said, walking through the room towards the door, “heading out-” when the floor fell out from under him, “Shit.”

“Barnes,” Natasha called over the comm, “Barnes, what’s your situation?”

Bucky tried to get a grip on something, anything that could hold his weight up that wouldn’t immediately break off. He gripped onto whatever he could and let out a pant, see, he didn’t quite feel like falling into the flamed under him, but he wasn’t sure if he could hold onto wood and carpet, and pulling himself up with the floor not cleared wasn’t a good idea either.

“Floor fell from underneath me, Romanov, floor’s unstable and I can’t get a good enough grip to pull myself up.” He tried to reach reach the bed’s legs but his fingertips only grazed it, “Can’t fall into the apartment under me either, there’s still fire.”

“Is there anyone by apartment number-”

“Twentysix,” he yelled, his muscles straining to hold himself up on the jagged wood, “and they better hurry cause my oxygen’s depleting and I’m slippin’, they might find me in apartment sixteen if they don’t get here soon enough.”

“Rogers from team number 106 heading to apartment twentysix from apartment twentyeight.” A deep voice said into the comms.

Bucky sighed in relief, thankful that the comms were clear and connecting both stations. He kept holding onto the broken floor with aching muscles, trying not to look down at the fire that was licking at his pants, little holes searing through, burning his skin. 

“Romanov,” Bucky huffed, trying to pull his legs up so they wouldn’t get anymore burns, “we gotta’ update these uniforms.”

“Tell it to Fury.” She replied dryly, but he could hear the concern in her voice. 

“This-” he coughed into his mask, closing his eyes, “this is the most intense ab and arm workout I’ve ever had, we should make the new recruits go through somethin’ like this.”

“In the hallway, which room are you in,” Rogers asked, cutting through his nervous babble.

“Last room on the left,” Bucky gritted into the comm, more fire making it’s way through his pants. He kept his eyes closed even when he heard boots cautiously walk into the room, his fingers slipping from where he was holding on. All his muscles were burning and he needed to get off this ledge fucking minutes ago. 

“I’m going to lift you,” Rogers told him, the echo of comm and actual voice making him jump, “that okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky panted, “just get me the fuck otta’ here.”

Rogers chucked and Bucky felt hands wrap under his armpits, before he was being lifted him. Then that’s when Bucky felt it, the left side of his face _on fucking fire_. 

Bucky screamed at the same time Rogers let out a choked sounding yell.

“Barnes?” He heard Nat’s voice come through the comms, somehow louder than the mewling he was doing, “What’s wrong?”

He clung tightly onto Rogers- who had him in the standard fireman carry- and tried to speak through the pain lighting up his body, “My- my face, Nat, it fucking burns.” He felt like there was actual fire on his face but he still had his mask on and nothing from it was broken. He didn’t know why his face was burning like it was when it was his legs that the fire got to. 

“James,” Natasha said softly, bypassing protocol and using his first name like he did her, “what side of your face is burning?”

“The left,” he cried weakly, feeling like an idiot that imaginary fire was making hurt so much, “I think ima’ pass out.” he slurred, feeling like he just gave blood and needed to sit down somewhere.

“Stay with me, James.” Rogers told him, his voice strained, “we’re almost out of here and to the EMTs, just say with me.”

Bucky let out a ragged breath and moved his hand so he could lay it over Rogers’ “‘m with you,  
‘m with you.” he strained to keep his eyes open, watching as Rogers made his way out the apartment, biting down on his lips so he wouldn’t make any more pained noises. 

“We’re almost there, James.” Rogers said, practically running down the apartment’s concrete stairs, “almost there.”

“Bucky,” Bucky started, light from the open archway flowing through, EMTs running to meet them at the arch, “call me Bucky.”

X

Bucky woke up slowly to the smell of anesthetics and an annoying beeping sound. He registered the fact that he was in the hospital, and that the side of his face and legs were both numb and cold. Not Cut-Off-Numb-And-Cold, but like someone threw his body in an ice bath and then drugged him up with anaesthesia and morphine- he’s been in the hospital quite a few times during his career as a fireman to know the difference.

He tried to push himself up from the bed, maybe figure out why he was admitted, but mostly to grab the foam cup of water on the table next to him and get his mouth to stop feeling like the fucking Sahara. 

Bucky was halfway to reaching the cup- his whole body aching from his acrobatic stunt earlier, but he was determined- when his room door opened. 

“James,” Natasha tutted, walking over to the bed and slapping his hand before giving him the cup, “there’s a call button for a reason you know.”

“How’d you know I was awake?” He asked, genuinely curious, bringing the straw up to his lips.

“I felt the stupidness radiating from under the door, signalling your waking.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and gratefully drank the water, relishing the moment when cold water touched his dry mouth. He watched Natasha settle herself in the chair next to his bed, there was still soot on her face and her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail but she still happened to look flawless. Natasha kept her eyes fixed on his, staring at him as he swallowed the water, gulp after gulp. Bucky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when the cup was empty and handed it back, letting the the room fall to silence for a moment before speaking. 

“So what happened out there?” He let his hands rest on the scratchy bed sheets, occasionally rubbing his fingers against them, but keeping his eyes on Natasha. 

“Well, Captain Rogers saved your ass from falling into a literal fiery pit. You didn’t come back unscathed, though, some smoke inhalation- hence the cannulas- your legs got some burns- you’re off duty for a couple weeks- and the doctor thinks you ripped a few muscles from the way you were hanging like Cliff Hanger from Between The Lions.”

Bucky rolled his eyes again and nodded, taking it all in- much of which he figured would happen, anyways- “Wait,” he brought his hand up to the left side of his face and touched it, wincing when a burning sensation shot up the side, “what happened to my face?”

Natasha rose an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms, “You haven’t figured it out?”

Bucky shook his head, slowly, confused, “No?”

“You’re an idiot, Barnes,” she sighed roughly and leaned forward, “What’s on the left side of your face, the only thing other than skin that could possibly hurt?” 

She said the words slowly like she was explaining math to a five year old, and Bucky frowned, “My Soulmark?”

“Yes,” she said nodding her head slowly, “and what does it mean when you’re Soulmark hurts?”

“That I found my Soulmate-” Bucky paused his eyes widened as Natasha nodded, “Shit, I found my Soulmate!”

“That you did, James, that you did.” She leaned back in the chair and smiled, looking content like someone who completed a hard puzzle. 

“Is it Rogers?” Bucky asked, not knowing who else it could be. He didn’t know how this whole Soulmate thing worked but he was suddenly nervous, butterflies in his stomach and all. 

Natasha nodded, “His full name is Steven Grant Rogers but he goes by Steve. I vetted him while you were out, he’s an all around Boy Scout, basically a Golden Retriever.”

“How come I’ve never met him before?” The firefighting community was extensive but since the station Steve worked at was in the next district, they should have met during those stupid field days and bbqs that happened every few months. 

“He said he was ex army, might have just gotten back and jumped into firefighting,” Natasha shrugged, crossing her arms, “do you want to meet him?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked from the door back to Natasha, “He’s here?”

“Of course,” she snorted, “he should be the one in here instead of me but he said he didn’t want to freak you out when you woke up and saw a stranger in your room.”

Bucky nodded, thankful that he had an understanding Soulmate instead of a douche bag one that’d want them to be in love the second their eyes met, “So.. I guess I should meet him, then?”

“Yup,” Natasha nodded, pushing herself up and out of the chair by his bed and walking to the door.

“Nat- what are you doing?”

“Introducing you to your Soulmate, of course.” She said, shrugging like it was nothing- which it was not, it was so _something_ that Bucky let out an undignified squeak and pulled the hospital blanket up to his chin like he was blushing virgin.

“Natasha,” he hissed, blanket covering him up to his neck, as she opened his room door, “Natasha!”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, looking out into the hallway until she found what she wanted, “Steven,” she called, “Bucky’s awake.”

Bucky wanted to roll over and act like he was sleeping, maybe tap the little button to push more morphine, or kick and scream until Natasha shut the door again, but he didn’t. He just kept his blanket up to his chin, and watched the door where Natasha was smirking at him and where he could hear the distinct sound of fireman boots on the floor. 

And then a fucking _God_ walked through the door. 

The man was all golden hair, cornflower eyes, and pale- muscular as fuck- skin. His features were oddly delicate for such a big man: plump red lips, long eyelashes, sharp cheekbones, a splash of light freckles across his nose- probably from the sun. But the thing that stood out most was the Soulmark along the side of his face, a sharp contrast of black to the pale white of him. It was completely identical to Bucky’s, on the left side of his face, little splatters of what people said were stars by his cheek, and a large mark of the sun by his temple, flames licking out and up. Bucky would know how identical they were, he sees his reflection everyday, multiple times, and it was slightly breathtaking to see another person with it on their face. 

Bucky felt a small, bashful smile cross his face, like the starstruck dork he was (pun intended), “H- hey,” Bucky said, trying to be cool about seeing his Soulmate for the first time but utterly failing.

“Hi,” Steve replied, a blush rising, look at his shoes before flicking his eyes back up to Bucky.

Natasha snorted from the doorway, “Aren’t you two a match made in heaven, well,” she nodded to both him and Steve, “my job here is done. Don’t break the bed, fellas.”

“Natasha!” Bucky hissed, he felt his face heat up in embarrassment as she winked at the both of them, closing the door as she went. 

The silence was awkward and heavy for a few moments, only the sound of the heart monitor beeping and his cannula hissing when he took a breath. Steve still standing at the end of his bed, focused intently on the floor, shuffling his feet from side to side, like a puppy that wanted to play with his new toy but didn’t know if he could. 

And Bucky just couldn’t handle that shit. 

He cleared his throat, catching Steve’s eyes, “Wanna’ take a seat?”

Steve nodded, clumsily making his way to the chair next to Bucky, pulling it a bit closer before sitting down.

Bucky stared at the man again, taking in the fact that his hair was lighter on the top, how long and delicate his fingers were, the way his shoulders were so much larger than his waist in that issue shirt, tucked into canvas pants. They fell into another bout of silence before Bucky spoke up again, “So.. you saved my life.”

Steve nodded with a shrug of his shoulder, “Just doing my job.”

“And you got a Soulmate out of it,” Bucky pointed out, slowly lowering the blanket from his chin, setting his hands down on his lap, trying to keep his body language open.

Steve chuckled- a sound Bucky wanted to hear again- and nodded, “That I did not expect from today’s fire.”

“Well,” Bucky drawled leaning towards Steve, “I sure am glad that floor decided to fall out from under me and try to throw me into the mouth of hell. It’s gonna’ be a great story to tell people.”

“Typical damsel in distress situation,” Steve said, nodding with a smirk on his face.

“Hey!” Bucky squawked, hitting Steve on the knee, “I was holding all my weight and all that tac gear on the tips of my fingers, I think I deserve a little more than ‘damsel in distress’.”

Steve snorted, shrugging with one shoulder, giving Bucky a boyish smile that was to die for, “Maybe.”

“You’re a little punk.” Bucky said through a laugh, no venom in his words, just pure adoration for the stranger in front of him. And that kind of scared him, that he could fall into a love-sick state for a man he didn’t even know. Sure, they were Soulmates and the Gods connected them or whatever, but he didn’t know Steve. He didn’t know if this guy was a hidden douche bag- which he highly doubted, but still. It might be the fact that he’s been waiting, ever so subtly, for his soulmate the day his Ma explained to him what Soulmarks were and what they did, but he didn’t want to be that classic case of love-drunk loner who just found their soulmate. 

So, as of now, this very moment, with Steve looking at him like he hung the moon and him looking at Steve like the guy hung the sun, with burned legs and a cannula up his nose, he made it his duty to get to know Steve. From the dark past of the war that he _knew_ Steve would try hiding from him, to the happy bits that made Steve’s eyes light up with laughter, he was going to know them all. 

And he knew, somewhere deep in his soul, that he was going to fall so deeply, so quickly in love with Steve that it was going to feel like drowning and it was going to scare him- make him do something stupid like running out when he accidentally utters those three words. But it was going to be okay, because Steve was going to follow him, pull him back inside their shared home, and utter those three words back with a smile on his face that would put the Sun Goddess to shame. And Bucky was going to finally be his happiest, he was going to stop putting makeup over his mark, he was going to stop running recklessly into fires, he was going to be okay. And- sure- it wasn’t going to always be peaches and cream with Steve, they were going to fight with each other out of fear of the other’s life, and Bucky was going to leave his socks around the house, and Steve was going to forget to take out the trash, but it was going to be okay. Because they were in it together, and they were with each other, till the end of the line.

- _end_

**Author's Note:**

> Follow [my tumblr](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/) for more "cap3 is just going to be a domestic stucky au where bucky raises cats and steve's an art teacher"


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